Part 3 of the Sworn Sisters series, inspired by this tears Gendrya Week and exploring the relationship between the two Ladies of House Stark.

Sansa Stark – the Lady of Wolves, the Flame-haired beauty that ruled over Winterfell, her strong, decisive, leader of a sister – was drunk.

Sansa had rapped on her chamber door not an hour earlier, a carafe of wine and two goblets in hand She was wrapped in her nightclothes and furs, her pink toes peeking out at the bottom. She'd smirked at her sister – as much as Sansa could smirk because her smiles, although much rare now than they ever were, had always been sincere – and announced, 'We need to talk.'

She'd pushed straight past Arya and gracefully sidled onto her bed, drawing her long legs up and crossing them before pouring the wine into the goblets. She dangled one at Arya who stood staring with the door still open.

Arya hadn't seen this side of Sansa in years. She'd watched her older sister since they had reunited at their ancestral home, and of all the Starks, Arya thought Sansa was the most changed. Gone was the simpering, delicate thing she had so detested as a child. In her place stood someone resolute and unyielding. A skilled politician and tactician, more effective for the veil of courtesies she weaved around herself. Arya found that she admired this new sister of hers, and would happily act as her right hand of justice as she ruled over Winterfell.

Yet now, after several goblet-fulls and more than a few spillages over the furs and blankets that lined her bed, Arya had no idea where that sister had gone.

Sansa sat, her feet resting on top of Arya's, her lips stretched in a true smile and cheeks full of the blush of wine. And she was – by the Gods – giggling.

"Why didn't you tell me about him?" She asked, eyeing her sister slyly (or so she thought). "You told me about wearing faces and poisoning people and slashing throats – but you couldn't tell me about a boy?"

Arya rolled her eyes, quietly enjoying seeing her perfect sister lose her composure. "There's nothing to tell. He's a friend. We were separated, once. And here we are."

Sansa nodded sagely. "And here you are. Being watched by a blacksmith - who looks suspiciously like a dead king - wherever you go, and more often than not coming to the evening meal smelling of smoke."

Well. Arya hadn't believed she was capable of blushing anymore, but evidently, she was wrong.

"Did you know blacksmiths get soot on their hands, Arya? They leave fingerprints."

Very wrong.

Sansa gave another breathy laugh and plucked Arya's goblet from her hands, filling it up again. She thrust it back and grinned at her sister.

"Tell me how you met – what were his first words to you?"

"By the Gods Sansa – what does that have to do with –"

"Just – indulge me, sweet sister Give me something."

Arya huffed and swallowed as much wine as she could choke down in one mouthful. Give her an army of the dead any day over this. "I don't even remember."

"Liar."

Arya bit her lip and reminded herself that their mother would be very disappointed in her manners if she were to take Needle and prick her sister.

"He asked me where I stole Needle."

Sansa's smile fell. "Honestly, Arya. You are so hopeless."

"What?!"

Sansa looked at her pointedly and spoke, like she used to speak to Rickon when he was being particularly difficult. "Why did he ask about Needle."

Arya shifted uncomfortably. "He – he, well. He may have seen me threaten a few of the other boys with it."

Sansa blinked. "Of course you did."

"They were trying to take it," Arya defended. "It was all I had left. Father had been murdered. Yoren chopped off all my hair. The Lannisters had you. All I had was Needle, and Hot Pie and Lommy weren't about to steal it from me."

"Hot pie and who?"

"Lommy. We became friends eventually, but you remember how little I was back then."

"Sure. Back then."

Arya smacked her foot. "Anyway," she grit her teeth. "They thought was an easy target. I proved them wrong."

"And Gendry…?"

She sighed, and drank more wine. Sansa gleefully followed her example.

"Well while they were busy pissing themselves when I was threatening them, they ended up backing into Gendry. He was fixing some tack on the horses. The idiot was absolutely massive even then, so you can imagine, if they were frightened of me, they weren't exactly going to start a fight with Gendry."

"But what did he say? Did he defend your honour?"

"Defend my –" Arya spluttered. "Get any and all romantic notions out of your head. Gods Sansa, he thought I was a little boy. He just – didn't like bullies, I suppose. Still doesn't."

Sansa fell silent but nudged Arya with her toes. A silent command, if ever she'd had one.

"He said, 'Like picking on the little ones, do you? I've been hammering an anvil these past ten years, and when I hit that steel, it sings. Will you sing when I hit you?'"

Sansa cackled and despite herself, Arya let one side of her lips crook up into a smile. Although she didn't much like being put under scrutiny, she was always more than happy to subject Gendry to it, especially when it meant he got a little appreciation.

"So he's a defender of the weak – how wonderful!"

Arya protested and Sansa shushed her. "You were the one who said it – he thought you were a little boy. He was protecting you."

Arya pressed her lips together, and reluctantly, agreed. "It's what we did. We looked after each other. When he found out I was a girl, he made sure none of the others did. Even at Harrenhal when we were stuck in pens, no one realised it until Tywin Lannister spelled it out for them."

And Sansa, cheeks flushed prettily from the wine, got this soft look in her eyes and sighed happily.

So Arya kicked her. "Stop. It."

Sansa kicked back, hard. "No. You'll give me this, and you'll like it."

Arya gulped down more wine and refilled their goblets, and Sansa took this as permission. "It makes me happy though, to know you had someone watching over you and keeping you safe."

Arya burst laughing, hands holding her side as she tipped over. She slumped over Sansa's feet and chuckled into the furs.

"Well pardon me for thinking of your safety," Sansa grumbled and wriggled her legs, trying to free them from under her sister.

Arya choked, trying to regain her breath. "Keeping me safe? Sansa have you met Gendry? The only thing intimidating about him is his size."

Sansa quickly regained her spirits. "To you, maybe."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't you hear what people say about him? The other blacksmiths grumble and call him a taskmaster. Poor Maester Tarly can't get out a full two words to him without stumbling over them. He is rather… imposing, until you're around."

"You're being ridiculous –"

"Then he gets this silly, lovely smile, and I swear his eyes sparkle, and –"

"Sansa!"

Sansa cackled.

"If they had seen him on The King's Road, they wouldn't be afraid, trust me."

At this, Sansa sobered a little. "He left you to fend for yourself?"

"What – no. No! He just – he has two left feet for starters and was horrible at swordplay. Though I suppose that all makes sense now. Stupid bull is gifted with a hammer I'll give him that –" Sansa choked on a mouthful of wine "- I actually have to work to beat him now. No, we fought together but, he's Gendry. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"So you protected him then," Sansa smiled wickedly. "Defended his honour from the ladies at the inns along your road together."

Arya blushed fiercely and mumbled into her goblet. Sansa gasped and lurched forward, pulling it from her face. "What did you say?"

"It's not too far from the truth." And Sansa couldn't have looked more pleased. "Look it's a good thing I did. That woman was practically devouring him, and I've never seen anyone as terrified as he is when faced with a pair of tits. And, even more so in hindsight, since she thought it was a great idea to impress him by telling her how she was the bastard of a King."

"Oh – Gods," Sansa's nose screwed up in disgust. "She was his sister?"

"Half of one, anyway."

Sansa grumbled and slid down until she was comfortably resting against Arya's shoulder. Her eyes slipped shut and her hands abandoned her empty goblet and clutched her sisters arm. "You were jealous?" she asked softly.

Arya would blame the wine in the morning, when she realised she'd answered her sister. "Yes. I didn't realise it at the time of course. We were children. But, yes."

"And now?"

"Now, what?"

"You don't have any reason to be jealous, now. He doesn't really look at anyone else apart from you. Not even that kitchen maid who tries to bring him lunch after you've already brought him something."

"How do you – I don't bring him – ow!" Sansa pinched underneath her arm and buried her head deeper into the crook of her neck. "Fine! Go to sleep, Sansa."

Sansa's breaths slowed and deepened, and the logs crackled in the fireplace. Arya felt a rare sense of warmth spread through her, emanating from her chest. It was a feeling she didn't think she'd ever associate with her sister. She felt her own eyes growing heavy, and rested her cheek against the softness of Sansa's hair. In the morning, she swear faithfully to forget their entire conversation. Absolutely nothing would ever be mentioned ag-

"Hold on. Sansa – wake up! Which kitchen maid? Sansa!"